Draco Malfoy
by it'satwinthing29
Summary: One-Shot. Draco's thoughts during the Half-Blood Prince. Will he succeed in the task that the Dark Lord has set him? I do not own anything related to Harry Potter, and am not affiliated with Warner Bros.


"_You have failed me, Draco. And now you're going to die._"

Draco sat bolt upright in bed. He was panting, the sweat glistening on his brow._ Just a dream_, he told himself, _it was just a dream._

He pulled the covers back from the bed and swung his legs over the edge. He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. It was the same dream, always the same dream, but it still shook him, right down to the core. Slowly he pulled back the sleeve of his pyjamas and flinched at the sight of his tattoo. That tattoo, that marked him servant to the Dark Lord. That tattoo, which could summon the most powerful dark wizard that had ever lived. That tattoo, which meant a one way ticket to Azkaban.

Draco pushed his messy blonde hair back off his face. Well, it was messy in the mornings anyway. He stood up and marched off to the bathroom. When he got there, he closed the door behind him and turned on the tap. His hands lingered under the cold, calm-educing water, before he scooped up a handful and submerged his face in it. He looked up at himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and blotchy, like they go when you've been crying.

This was not a look that was new to him. It was now coming towards the end of April and he had already made two attempts on Albus Dumbldore's life. Sixteen years old and attempting murder. Why did it have to be him? He thought he had been so sure of what he wanted to do. Avenge his father, please the Dark Lord.

"You should be proud that you were chosen to serve the Dark Lord, proud that he chose you for this...delicate task."

That's what Professor Snape had said. He didn't know the half of it. No one could ever understand what it was like, to be given a task you know you can't complete, that determines whether you live or die. Tears came stinging into him eyes. He wiped them away. He had to prove himself, to everyone, to himself.

He went back into the bedroom, only to be welcomed by Crabbe's snoring. He gave him a shove. Perhaps a little too hard, he thought, as Crabbe toppled over the side of his bed. He didn't seem to notice and carried on snoring. Draco shrugged and clambered back into his own bed. He reached over to his bedside table and picked up his gold watch. Five past three. _Oh great_, he thought, _I'm never going to get back to sleep_.

He slumped back against his pillow and shut his eyes. There was a quidditch match today, and Draco had something waiting for him in the Room of Requirement.

* * *

Draco felt an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. He always felt like he was being watched.

The corridors twisted round the castle like the climbing plants around Draco's house. It almost reminded his of the way he had seen Nagini once wrap herself around Voldemort, but he managed to push the thought out of his mind before it became too overwhelming.

He had been right about getting back to sleep the previous night. He had had, four, maybe five hours of sleep. He doubted sleep would help him in anyway though, all he had to look forward to was those dreams. _They were so lifelike_. He shook himself. He had to focus. The quidditch match wouldn't last long, not if Slytherin had anything to do with it. How he _loathed_ the new captain of the quidditch team. He was _so_ chirpy and yet at the same time managed to be so_ unspeakably_ boring. It didn't matter though, he wasn't going to have much time for quidditch anymore. He had always asked his father to come and play with him as a child, but he had always refused. Draco had often considered trying to have an actual conversation with Potter, maybe...

No, Draco thought, what would be the point. The damage had been done years ago, and he doubted Potter and his friends would ever talk to him, not after what he had put them through.

Speaking of Potter, he had been giving him a weird look at breakfast, like he had suspected him of something. Thank goodness he was playing in the match this morning, he would probably have followed him all day, just like on the train. Potter, he was so nosey. How could he have ever considered being friends with him? It was probably a good thing that he had refused to shake his hand all those years ago. Thinking about it, what would he do if he had? His father was a Death Eater and Potter was trying to catch them all. And where would that leave him? Caught in the middle. He'd be dead for sure.

He walked past the wall five times; he kept getting distracted by tiny noises. Eventually he saw it. The Room of Requirement. The place where hundreds, maybe thousands of Hogwarts pupils had hidden things, from books to plants. Draco liked this room. Here he could hide as well, hide from the complexity of his life and from himself. Not all the time but most times.

And there it was, the cabinet, connected to Borgin and Burke's in Nocturne alley. The prospect of it scared him. You step inside it and appear somewhere else. It was a huge concept to grasp and it always managed to wriggle its way out of Draco's fingers. He pulled the blanket off the top and dust flew in every direction. He coughed and blew it away from his face. He pulled the apple he had with him out of his pocket, opened the door of the large, wooden box and put the apple inside. He closed the door.

There was a swooshing sound, like the kind you get in films or video games. Of course, Draco didn't know much about video games. A minute passed before there was another swooshing sound. Draco pulled the door open and looked in.

Someone had taken a bite out of the apple.


End file.
